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She sat at the bow. For the two weeks it had taken them to track Alina, she sat at the bow of the ship, enduring and unmoving like a carved figurehead, waiting, pondering, brimming with barely contained anger.
Alina and Mal had been smart to go for Novyi Zem, the country that was least likely to sell them off to the highest bidder, but not smart enough to cover their tracks. Instead, they'd left a golden trail of hairpins that had led the Darkling all the way to the poor excuse of an accommodation the two had rented.
Katya looked out at the endless expanse of water, swaying softly with the ship. The smell of the whaler was vile, but she found it was not horrible to be out on the water. They left her alone here, now that there was nowhere to go. Even if she jumped overboard, Katya was sure they would fish her right out of the sea.
There was a dull pain in her right arm – it started in the forearm, where the delicate expanse of black scars marked her skin, and ended in her shoulder. A Shu assassin had put an arrow through it years ago, and she had killed him. Could she extend the same treatment to the Darkling when the time came?
Thoughtlessly, Katya reached out, her fingers caressing the railing, the water calling to her like a mother. If she jumped now, when the Darkling was off collecting his prized Sun Summoner, no one could stop her. The other Grisha avoided her as much as they could, and the ship's crew were rightfully scared of her.
Even Genya kept her distance, now that something deadly had made its home under Katya's skin. Only the Darkling didn't seem to notice the well masked venom.
It had been one of the first realizations she'd had when they emerged on the other side of the Fold, in West Ravka. They'd had to half drag her along, and when they finally made it out, and the Darkling had turned those granite eyes on her, Katya realized that she hated him.
The second had been that the nichevo'ya wounds never really healed, not even with a Healer's help.
The third had not been a realization, it had been the Darkling's face close to hers, eyes unfeeling and calculating, dried blood still caking his face as he sighed, "Zoya was in Novokribirsk, she's long dead. Give up."
Katya's hands balled up in tight fists, her knuckles white, nails digging into her palms as she remembered the beast, its claws embedded into her arm, her struggle to get away and the thought that if only she had moved faster...It haunted her nights and days, and as such Katya found it hard not to smile a little every time she remembered the horror of the nichevo'ya turning on their own master. She often wondered if the Darkling felt the same dull pain in his wounds, or even a part of the guilt that made her heart want to stop.
Katya doubted he felt anything anymore, other than a hunger for power.
Everyone on the ship knew, one way or another, that Katya was more storm than girl, that whatever was left of her now was anger and violence and spite, and yet one single man stood in the eye of the storm time and time again.
